joi, 22 decembrie 2011

pt azi 22.12.2011

Motto pt azi:

Run - I'll do no more this walking
Haunted by a past I just can't see

But let me tell you I have never planned
To let go of the hand that has been
Clinging by its thick country skin
To my yellow country teeth

sâmbătă, 17 decembrie 2011

My dream

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

Frank O’Hara

miercuri, 5 ianuarie 2011

I am the Spring

Si acum in mijloc de iarna, cand ar trebui sa am un loc cald, umblu singura pe strazile inghetate.
Am pierdut locul meu cald, casa mea cu semineu mereu arzand, cu un pat comod cu paturi in valurile carora sa ma pierd pana la prima raza de lumina a zilei, cu un geam mare prin care soarele sa intre mereu sa ma salute si sa imi ureze o zi minunata.
S-au dus toate!
Si mergand pe strazile goale si reci ma gandesc la ce am pierdut.
Le-am pierdut din vina mea?
Le-a luat cineva fara sa observ?
Stiu ca am trecut recent pe acolo. Am trecut pe langa casa mea cea calda. Dar nu ma mai recunostea. Nu imi mai deschidea larg usa cand ma apropiam. Nu imi mai zambea. Se uita strain la mine.
Si in timp ce ma uitam la casa mea veche cu ferestrele franceze ce imi aduceau soarele am vazut pe cineva.
O fata cu parul lung, roscat statea la geam si zambea soarelui.
Atunci am realizat ca ce a fost odata casa mea era singura luminata de pe strada. Toate erau gri, cojite si mucegaite, in timp ce vechea mea casa stralucea.
Si, desi lacrimile curgeau peste zambetul meu vag, am intors spatele si i-am dorit tot binele din lume. Tot binele din lume pentru fata de la geam si tot binele din lume casutei mele dragi.
Acum merg din nou pe strazile iernii, dar in sufletul meu e deja primvara.